


The Black and the Gold

by Emaiyl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Crack, F/F, Female Jaime Lannister, Female Jon Snow, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emaiyl/pseuds/Emaiyl
Summary: Jonna learns the truth about the lord commander of the Night's Watch.





	The Black and the Gold

Jonna reaches to wipe the sweat from her face, only to find it frozen on her forehead and cheeks. She tries to winnow her gloved hand beneath it, to peel it away. Her fingers are blocks of ice, grown twice their normal size, and ten times as useless. The pommel of her sword rests in her other hand. Each groove of the wolf's head brands her palm with cold.

Her frost-dry lips bleed as her face cracks into a smile. She's been chosen for a ranging, thank the old gods and the new; she'll be able to see what world there is beyond this slab of ice. To treat with the wildlings, for they'll need all the fighters they can get in the war to come. If there are to be treaties, she'll need to ask about moon tea.

For now, what waits for her is a hot bath, and a hot meal afterwards. She'll ask Sam about moon tea, and get far more information than she requires. Maybe they could set up a greenhouse. Their commander is not a particularly kind woman, but she isn't stupid. They came to the Wall to train and serve, but they did not vow to live without feeling.

Feeling impels Jonna now, to the heat of the sauna. Ice cracks off her tunic and breeches, and her skin steams as she peels them away. She unbinds her hair, and jumps when her frost-heavy curls brush against her back. Erratic shivers take her, and she presses herself against the wall, wet with steaming droplets, until even her bones feel warm.

Jonna steps through the doorway to the baths.

Gold shines on black stone.

She freezes.

There's a steam-veiled goddess in the bath, her hair falling in shimmering waves. Droplets of water shiver on her skin with the movement of each muscle, darkening her pink-brown nipples.

The leader of the Night's Watch lifts an eyebrow. “What's wrong, Snow?”

“Nothing.”

 _Everything_.

Keeping the soap still is a welcome distraction.

“Never seen any cunts but your own, I think.” Jaime lifts her leg onto the edge of the bath to wash her inner thighs, and the hair between them is gold, catching the light. She coats her leg with soap from hip to ankle. “No cocks either, I'm sure. You'd think you'd never seen anyone naked before at all.”

_She's to train us at dawn._

Jaime's smile is an abrupt message written on her face. Incautious and unafraid. She lifts the flagon of ale towards Jonna. “There's a cunt I see every day.” Her mouth stretches wide over cheekbones softened by the cold sun.

_She's piss-drunk._

Her teeth gleam in the winter dusk, chips of white silver against her hair, a fall of beaten gold.

“Your commander orders you to bathe with her.”

_Seven hells._

“I'm meant to be meeting with Sam after this.”

“Where you're meant to be is where I ask, Snow. Do you think the Night Queen and her soldiers will care where you're meant to be?”

“I only meant--”

“Did you think I would make your vows easy?”

The water slaps at Jonna's shoulders as she slides in. “I don't know.”

“I'm celebrating.” Jaime lifts the flagon again, and ale sloshes over the shaking edge.

“It's not much of a celebration.”

Jaime's soft laugh blows her hair away from her face. Then it swings to hide her eyes again, a golden shadow.

“You've heard how the Mad King was slain.”

_Seven bloody hells._

“Yes.”

“You've no more to say than that? Surely they've told you tales before you came. That I cared for him, and killed him in a bout of jealous rage. That we conspired together to overthrow my father.”

“I don't know.”

“The maester discovered Rhaella was barren.” Through golden strands, the green in Jaime's eyes burns Jonna's own. “Aerys thought to use Cersei and me as he had his wife, that we should bear him golden-scaled children. We fought him off.” She grips the bath's edge, her knuckles pale. “One night he found we had been taking moon tea. He sent for his pyromancer.” Jaime clenches the stump of her right arm in her fist. “I was no soldier. What could I do without a sword?”

_Seven bloody, blackened hells._

Water ripples away from Jaime's body at her low laugh. “Essence of nightshade and milk of the poppy were what I could do. Half the city still burned, and Cersei.” Jaime releases her arm and downs her ale. She swallows in shuddering gulps. Bloody crescents pockmark her stump. “Wildfire took my hand before the poison took him, and I made for the Wall the next day.”

All the bath's heat leaches from Jonna's skin, and ice heavier than the Wall settles in her stomach. “We couldn't know.”

Jaime's eyes are two pale sparks, embers of dull green. “You little fools think you know, because your fathers raised you to be kind. It's not kindness that kept me alive.”

The ice in Jonna's stomach sharpens to points of frost, and her bowels clench. When she warms again, she tries for calm. Stillness to fight the cold. “We'd be worse off without you as our leader.”

“A leader, not a lady.” Jaime scrubs at her shoulders and collarbone with a scrap of coarse wool, made blacker by the wet. “I haven't been a lady since Cersei and I played at the pleasures of womanhood.”

Jonna turns away, tipping water over her head. She scrubs at her scalp and combs soap through her hair.

They wash for a time.

When Jaime speaks again, the quiet in her voice reflects Jonna's stillness. “Did you know I have a name, Snow?”

“We're meant to call you by your title. You're our Lady--”

Water froths around Jaime as she turns to Jonna. This time, Jaime's other eyebrow lifts. “You'll let me talk about my sister's cunt, but you won't call me Kingslayer?”

“You never talked about--I wasn't letting you do anything.”

Jaime flashes her bright teeth again. “You'd let me. We'll talk about yours eventually, Snow.”

_May the old gods and the new take me._

“I don't--”

“No, you don't.” Jaime pulls at one of Jonna's curls. “You do know I have a name.” She grins, but there's a wistfulness in her eyes.

“We're not to use it.”

“Have I ever given you such an order?”

“No.”

Jaime rolls her eyes. “You can talk to me with more than one word, can't you?”

“You seem interested in doing the talking.”

“Who would've guessed you had a wit on you, Snow? I always thought the number of words you used was the same as the number of thoughts in your head.”

_To the deepest of all the seven hells._

The frost is in Jonna's spine now, drawing it taut. “Am I free to go?”

“You like vows, don't you? Promises, pledges?”

It pricks at the muscles in her back. “Vows aren't about what I like.”

“Gods, have you always been so insufferable?”

_The old gods take me, then, since the new seem unable to help._

“Yes.”

“You'll come to me again. If you're to range beyond the Wall, you'll need to train with me. Make that a promise. It was your father who had the grace to let me go, so it's not you I do this for. When we train, you'll do something else for me.”

“What?”

“Here, I'm the commander. In the south, I'm the Kingslayer. For you, something else. You'll use my name.”

“Jaime.”

Jaime's kiss is sudden, but soft. Then, that gold and silver grin, the press of hot flesh and the scrape of wiry hair against Jonna's thigh.

And then Jaime is gone, her hair a golden wave rippling behind her.

 


End file.
